My Cellmate's A Killer
by davidthesquirrel
Summary: [MCR FANFICTION] In prison, Gerard is torn between what he is told and what he believes. Frank helps him consider his thoughts.
1. Nice to Meet You

I remember seeing him around the cellblock. His cell was 14 to the left of mine, though I had not noticed before meeting him. I had never known who he was, really; rumors had floated around the building, as always, and I identified him by the description given. He had black hair, hazel eyes, and a dark look was frequently plastered on his face. He wasn't very tall, but, well, I can't say much, being that I'm only about 5 ' 4", but he always seemed to be bent over, tired, and burdened. He appeared far from the menacing killer he had been suspected to be; maliciously slitting his brother's throat and shooting him in the head, but hey, you can't judge a book by its cover. Though he was unimportant to me then, I remembered seeing him being led to his cellblock for the first time, dressed in the orange jumpsuit and black shoes every prisoner was required to wear. He was on the plump side then, but that was years ago. Watching him now, he's slimmed down drastically, his appetite apparently decreasing from looking at the disgusting prison food.

I met him in the prison yard. It was cloudy that day, the clouds heavy with rain, but we had been forced outside nonetheless. Usually, I had my typical cellmates around me, but for some strange reason, they were nowhere to be seen that day. He was sitting in a corner of one of the weathered brick buildings, legs crossed, his right elbow placed on his right knee, his face resting on his palm. His eyes were closed and I was unsure whether he was sleeping or not, but I approached him anyway. Here in prison, standards were set. I was relatively short, but after serving years in here, I had my seniority and was respected. I've been here since I was 18. Second-degree murder. I'm thirty-one now, my life practically half over. Anyway, all "newbies" were looked down upon and mocked. They received no respect from other inmates, but earned it over time, with years to come, and with actions made. He had only been in for a couple years at this point, but had gone completely unnoticed by any inmates, which surprised me. Though jokes outside of prison were always seemed funny and ridiculous, like, "don't pick up the soap," it was a serious matter that was ignored by many guards and supervisors. Rape was not uncommon here, though I have never been a victim, and bribery was always an option in any case. Inmates slipped money to the guards to ignore the cries of the helpless. I had smartly evaded the few groups that had been rumored to gang up on "fresh meat", and after a decade or so, I had swam my way out of rough waters.

I allowed myself to sit next to him against the wall. Noticing my presence, his eyes shot open and he glanced at me, to quickly to look back down at his feet. He didn't seem very old, maybe my age, but acted timid and scared. I couldn't blame him. No matter how tough you thought you were on the outside, prison could make you rethink anything you've ever thought about yourself. I laughed. Was I really that intimidating? Yeah, sure, I was covered in tattoos, but most people here did, and besides, I wasn't that tall.

"Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you, guy," I reassured him. He glanced at me again, and said truthfully, confidence in his voice, almost cocky,

"I know." For a split second, this angered me. I guess, subliminally, I wanted to be thought as the "tough guy" whom no one wanted to get involved with, but in reality, I really shouldn't have cared. I didn't want to be labeled as the typical tough douchebag in the prison yard anyway. So, I asked,

"Why?" He didn't answer me, so I just sat there, unsure whether he would ever answer my question, or he just decided that he didn't want to. I guessed the latter. I didn't want to seem childish or eager to make friends, and I was only using him so that I wouldn't be noticed sitting alone, so I didn't talk.

Soon enough, it started to rain, so the guards blew their high-pitched, frantically shrieking whistles, telling everyone to file inside. Our free time had been cut short, and we would have to spend the rest of it in our cells. The downpour of rain grew to be torrential, and I stood up from the not-so-dusty ground. I offered my hand to the black-haired inmate, but he disregarded me and heaved himself up to his feet. I mentally shrugged, making up an excuse for him in my head. I've seen people arrive here and mope around for a while, but they eventually accepted their fate and moved on. This man either just took longer to realize that this was his life, or his personality was just sad and cheerless. Oh well, I could say that I had better things to do, but I really couldn't. Here, we had pretty much three things on our schedule: eat, sleep, and under minimum wage labor. The free time we had in between, I usually read, made small talk, or joked around with the friends I had come to make over the years. Or just sat mindlessly. The people who I've been acquainted with are mostly like me. Yes, we have committed heinous crimes before in our lives: by mistake, on purpose, or because we're crazed maniacs, who knows? All I knew was that it was in the past. Everyone in the prison did or was accused of committing a crime, so who was to judge? So, I decided to take interest in him. I didn't know his story all that well, so, being that I needed some purpose in my life, I made it my personal goal to get to know him. I followed him towards the prison doors, looking at the messy, longish black hair that was beginning to plaster against his scalp, and remembered that I didn't even know his name.

"Hey!" I shouted through the heavy rain. He turned around, squinting, his right hand covering his eyes from the fat droplets of water. "I didn't catch your name!"

"Gerard," he said. He didn't try very hard to make his voice audible, but I heard it.

"I'm Frank," I said, unlike him, making sure he heard me. Gerard nodded and turned to walk past the hawk-eyed guards standing in the doorway.

_

I occasionally saw him around the prison yard or in the mess hall after that, only then noticing his presence, and kept an eye on him. He didn't seem to be one to socialize or talk, which made me surprised. Usually, those who took advantage of other inmate's bodies targeted loners like that, but he seemed to blend in well. I still kept my goal in mind, wanting to get more acquainted with him and find his story. Finally, after weeks of just watching, I confronted him in the mess hall during lunch. The tray in front of him was seemingly untouched; the watery soup, limp salad and stale bread still sitting in their given positions.

"May I?" I asked, a little jokingly. I could have just sat there if I wanted to, I just didn't want to seem like one to invade others' privacy. He nodded, and picked up the bread roll off of the tray. Predictably, I was the first to start the conversation.

"I know the food sucks. Took me a while to get used to it, too," I said. He nodded again in agreement and started to pick at the outside of the bread, making a hole in the crust. Tearing a piece off, he popped it into his mouth and chewed. We sat in silence until were notified to clean up after ourselves and return to our cells. It hadn't been a very successful day, but I guess it was a start. Every passing day would spark more and more of my curiosity in him. We barely spoke, but I took my time to be around him as much as I could. I didn't care if he thought I was annoying, I just wanted to make friends. So what if that seems like a childish act? Everything in life is too mature anyway after you reach the age of at least 10, so why not try and make the most of your prematurely lost youth? I wouldn't give up. This was the most interesting thing I had done in years, and his response, or lack of response, for now, wouldn't faze me at all.


	2. I'll Hold Them Back

Gerard stayed quiet around everyone, including me. He didn't necessarily open up to me verbally, but his actions had relaxed a little more, and he didn't seem as tense. Of course, he had said with confidence that he wasn't afraid of me, and I respected that. Maybe he really wasn't, or maybe he didn't want to seem like a coward. Either way, it didn't matter to me; all I wanted was to make sure he didn't feel bound to follow his own unwritten rules. I hung around him as much as I could, resulting in weird looks from the people I usually hung out with. They repeatedly asked why I hung out with him, but didn't judge any further. The one thing I did like about being here is that most people couldn't care less of what you did, but the ones who did care expressed it a little more violently than most. This is why you had to be cautious around certain people; I should have known that, but my curiosity in Gerard preceded me and I was caught off guard. Gerard had successfully blended in with the crowd, protecting himself from bigger, more intimidating inmates, but I revealed him. I wasn't particularly well known in the cellblock, but people were aware of me, so once I was seen with Gerard, his presence was made aware, too. That was my mistake. The last thing he probably wanted, attention, was now forced to him, and he wasn't able to refuse it.

It started in the mess hall. It was 7 in the morning, and everyone had been guided to breakfast, where we all sat in the area we were instructed to sit. Thankfully, because my cell was so close to Gerard's, we were able to sit together, or as he probably thought, have me sit next him. Breakfast that day was a couple pieces of toast with some disgustingly dehydrated sausages and powdered eggs. I've been vegetarian since I was a kid, but I didn't want to bring it up in the prison; besides, the food they would give me instead wouldn't be much better, so I just ate my bread along with the little plastic containers of fruit preserves. Ironic, isn't it; I can kill a person, but I can't stand to be associated with killing animals. Funny how that works. The eggs, like almost everything else here, were by far the most repulsive tasting thing they served, and I refused to eat them after my first encounter with them years ago. Gerard probably learned that the hard way, too, as the eggs on his plate were completely untouched. Just like always, we had a silent meal between us. I struck up conversation sometimes, but it never went anywhere. His answers were always monosyllabic and uninterested. I tried to give up getting to know him; he just didn't seem very interested, but I decided to push on. So, that day, while we were "eating", I noticed that Gerard was nervously glancing at one side of the room, and quickly reverting his attention back to his food. I wasn't quite sure what was interesting enough in the boring mess hall to catch his attention, but when I saw what he was glancing at, I realized the cause of his uneasiness. One of groups of the over-sized typical prison giants, those who preyed on the weak to relieve their sexual frustration, were looking at Frank, pointing, and obviously conversing about him. It took a couple seconds for this to register in my mind, but once I saw them nodding in agreement, I decided to take special caution to prevent Gerard from being harmed. This was entirely my fault after all. Gerard had never been in the limelight before, but now that I was around him, he had been shoved into it for everyone to see him. If put a light hand on his shoulder, feeling his muscles suddenly tense in surprise, then to relax when he realized that it was only me.

"Don't look at them," I said. He didn't respond, but he did take my advice and intentionally took fake interest in his food. He knew just as well as me what those brutes had in mind.

Asking around, I found out through other inmates that Gerard worked in the laundry department as part of the labor we were required to take part in. Unfortunately, I worked in the kitchen, one of the easier jobs, thankfully, but I couldn't risk Gerard being alone with those bastards. It would be hard, and I could have to sacrifice a few privileges, but to me, it was worth it. It seemed strange to me that I was dedicating so much time just to get to know and help someone. I guess your priorities get messed up once you have nothing to do all day every day. So, I asked one of my good friends, Ray, that I had met upon arriving here, for help. He wasn't much older than me and was convicted for grand theft auto and assault. Unfortunately, he would be leaving in a matter of years while I would stay here, for the rest of my life, actually. In just the few years he had been here before me, he had gained a surprising amount of respect from many of the guards that surround our cellblock. My request to him was to change my job position or Gerard's. I would prefer that Gerard come work with me in the kitchen, where all we had to do was clean dishes and cut vegetables, but that was highly unlikely. The population in the kitchen was already overflowing and the last thing they needed was another person to be taking up space. I would probably end up in the laundry room with Gerard. In a matter of time, I was notified that I would be moved down to the laundry. Thankfully, they had the complete opposite situation than the kitchen. More workers were needed there, and to take from the overpopulated to the under populated was the perfect solution. In actuality, I didn't need Ray to arrange anything; all I had to do was ask, especially if it benefitted them. I was anxious to find out how Gerard was doing and it took a few days to completely transfer my job down to the laundry room, but thankfully, from what I saw of Gerard in the mess hall and prison yard, he was unharmed.

~~~

On my first day in the laundry room, when I saw him transferring the dirty clothes to carts that would lead to the washing machines, he looked up to see me, and looked fairly surprised. For the first time, he spoke first,

"What are you doing here? I thought you worked in the kitchen." I smiled to myself, remembering that I had never told him that I worked in the kitchen. The only way he could have found out was to ask, meaning he had taken some interest in me. A great first step, I thought. I didn't lie to him, but I didn't tell him what my motives were,

"They had too many people in the kitchen, so they moved me down here. I guess I'm working here now." He seemed a little suspicious. It couldn't have been a coincidence that the one guy, me, that followed him around non-stop was suddenly his work partner. But, I guess he shrugged it off because he continued his work and didn't question me any further. It was loud in there, the machines clanging and echoing throughout the whole concrete-walled room, so I decided not to start conversation to avoid having to yell over the noise. To my surprise, the work we did was not horribly hard; repulsive odors, yes, and I wished we had the job of taking the freshly warm clothes out of the dryer, but it wasn't too bad. The hours went by slowly, the monotonous work stretching out the minutes longer than they really were. Finally, whistles were blown, notifying the workers that the workday was over. We shuffled out towards the doorway, about fifty or sixty of us in all. As I neared the double-doors, I looked behind me to see if Gerard was following me. I turned and saw that he was no where to be found. I whipped my head from side to side, desperately searching for some sign of him. I had stopped in the middle of the moving crowd and the other inmates cursed at me for disrupting the flow. Unfazed by their complaints, I pushed against the gradient, resulting in more cursing and threats. I searched for Gerard's face, hoping that I would see his familiar pale complexion. Unfortunately, being the short person I am, I wasn't able to see above anyone's heads, and I wasn't sure if he had gone ahead of me or I just didn't catch his face. Finally, I reached the end of the crowd, running into the two guards that were always at the rear of any prison group.

"What do you think you're doing?" one of them asked. Thinking quickly, I responded,

"I, uh, forgot something…" He rolled his eyes and told his partner to go ahead with the crowd and that he would wait for me. I quickly scanned the room, searching for any signs of movement or sound. Unfortunately, some of the machines were still running and I could barely hear anything. I jogged around the vast room, looking behind all the machines I could. I had done a full round of the room, and the guard was getting agitated.

"Hurry up, will you?" He yelled from across the room. I yelled back a response, claiming I was almost done. I started panicking. I wasn't finding anything, but I was afraid that if I returned to the mess hall and Gerard wasn't there, I would blame myself for potentially getting him hurt. My heart was pumping nervously and I checked around every huge machine and contraption, but in my panic, I realized that I had not checked the utility closet. The closet itself was practically a room; extra clothes were held there, along with sheets, blankets and an infinite amount of detergent bottles. I hurried to open the door, and upon opening, I saw the backs of three monstrous prisoners surrounding a corner of the closet. It seemed that in that moment, the machines had grown louder. I couldn't hear myself yell to catch their attention, and I did not hear the guard coming up from behind me. Responding to my yells, the three prisoners in the corner turned around to see who had addressed them. They stepped away from the corner, anger etched into their expressions, furious that I had interrupted whatever they were going to do. Once stepping away from the corner, they revealed Gerard in the corner, struggling to hold himself up, using the wall to assist him. The right side of his face had swollen profusely from what I assumed were from the fists thrown at him. What scared me most was that he strained to pull up the orange pants that were half way down his legs. Rage overcame me, and I so desperately wanted to violently approach the disgusting giants, but I held myself back, aware that I was no match for them, and turned to the guard that still held my collar, and looked at him questioningly to do something of the matter. He yanked my collar again,

"Let's go," he said menacingly, directing the order only to me. The bastards across the closet came closer and closer, ready to demolish my physical state. I looked back at the guard, and pleaded to him,

"Do something!" but he did not relent. He was choking me now, the collar of my shirt tightening around my neck. "Do something!" I cried again, more desperately. The guard wasn't looking at me now, but at the three prisoners. They exchanged glances, and the guard nodded and proceeded to try and drag me out of the closet again. I realized that the gang-rapists had bribed the guard in advance. This had all been planned. No wonder the guard had come so quickly when I had opened the closet door. The huge monsters turned around, knowing that I was not a threat and surrounded Gerard once again. Just before the bodies of the prisoners blocked him off from my view, I saw him open his mouth to yell, scream, anything to prevent what was about to come. I could barely breathe anymore from my further constricting collar, but I did not stop screaming. Surely, someone in the vicinity would hear me. Unfortunately, they did not. With all of the loud laundry machines, no one from the outside could hear what went on from the inside. With one hand I attempted to loosen the collar from my throat, and I twisted around, releasing myself from guard, and threw my fist at him, landing directly in his cheekbone. My knuckles ached from the contact, but the guard had been stunned. I ran towards the group, but just before I could reach, every muscle in my body stopped functioning. They grew tighter and tighter until I was unable to hold myself up anymore. Just as I was falling to the ground, I saw the guard above me with what I recognized as a taser gun, and once my head hit the ground, the complete sense of failure led me to believe that I had been unsuccessful in protecting Gerard.


	3. Can't Find the Way

Upon waking, the back of my head throbbed painfully, and my vision was slightly doubled. I looked around my surroundings and noticed that I wasn't my everyday cell. The walls were made of smooth dark gray stone, and I was lying on a single bed suspended about two feet off the ground. Across the small cell was a toilet and sink, and instead of barred doors, like the standard cell, there was a solid door was a small secure window and a small compartment under it. I was in solitary confinement. No, I tried to deny it to myself, I couldn't be in solitary; what would happen to Gerard? What did happen to Gerard?

"Hey!" I yelled, assuming that there was a guard outside the door. No one answered. I yelled again, over and over, pausing occasionally for any sign of a response, until I was interrupted with banging on the door.

"Shut up!" a voice called.

"What happened?"

"You're in here for the next week," said the person, who I assumed was the guard standing outside.

"What happened to Gerard?" I asked desperately.

"Who the hell is Gerard? Just shut up," he said, exasperated. I growled in frustration. I'd go crazy with anxiety waiting a week, all alone, in this empty cell. Anger flamed inside of me and I paced the room, arms thrown in the air. There was nothing else I could do to relieve my frustration, and I probably looked like an idiot, just walking around the cell, so I gave up and sat down on the bed. I cursed at my never-ending paranoid thoughts; I could not stop thinking about what had happened to Gerard, and why specifically I was put into solitary confinement, and I wasn't sure what to do with myself, just sitting in the room, a tiny window letting in thin strips of light. Based on the position of these rays, I assumed it was around six in the evening, as they were slowly disappearing, leaving only the artificial fluorescent light to illuminate my room. Truthfully, I was terrified. I had heard what solitary confinement did to a person psychologically, and even though I knew my quarantine would only last for a week, I was scared of what the anticipation and stress would do to me. I'm a relatively social person, and when I'm left alone with my thoughts, usually, no good can come out of it. I'd usually busy myself in some way, like reading or writing and such, but here, I wasn't sure what the rules were, but they seemed pretty simple: eating and sleeping. I was given my meals through the small compartment under the window in the doorway, but that day, I was in no mood to eat. They instructed me to put the plates back into the compartment once I was done, but, my appetite ruined after experiencing what had happened that day, I just left it in there. I felt sick as it was; I didn't need something else that would want to make me vomit even more. Deciding that the best thing to do was sleep, I rolled myself into the bed and adjusted myself to the new surface, which was surprisingly softer than our usual bunks.

My only way of telling time during that week was with the sun's rays that passed through, slowing fading in at about six in the morning, and dying out about twelve hours subsequently. I didn't have a way of keeping myself occupied except for imagining what time it was and sleeping. I tried to contain my anxiousness to find what happened to Gerard; so naturally, I made myself sleep so that I didn't overthink it. I did take some thought into mind though. I wondered what had given me such interest in Gerard. I knew I wasn't gay; I'd never been attracted to men in that way, but something about him intrigued me. After hours of thought, I realized that I had taken special notice of him because of how differently he acted from everyone else. Usually, those who committed such a horrendous act didn't have a tremendously hard time fitting in with a group, as their peers back home were most likely very similar to those residing here. Gerard was quite different though. Of course, I had seen my share of prisoners that had been unfitting to the penitentiary scene, but something between them and the rough, tattoo-ridden giants were the same: they had all been persecuted for a crime, and I had yet to meet anyone who was truly innocent. Most of these criminals weren't particularly intelligent, and their crimes were almost immediately found. These people were obviously scared and intimidated when they first came, hell, I was too, but as months passed, they became acquainted with the other inmates and fit in like this was their new home. It wasn't a very nice home, mind you, but a place to be accepted nonetheless. Gerard, on the other hand, never grew out of the scared-and-intimidated stage, and always seemed guilty, like even after all this time, he still had to have his head hung to the law. Maybe he did, but usually, from my experience, when someone was inducted with first-degree murder, intentional and planned out murder, they were not as guilty as those who unintentionally killed. Again, Gerard didn't seem like one to commit such a malevolent act, but I still didn't know what he felt firsthand. I guess my curiosity in this sparked my interest in him. By analyzing my thoughts and avoiding worry, I successfully passed the time, and in all honesty, the isolation was boring, but was a little relaxing to be apart from the tedious routine I had followed for almost 13 years. Nonetheless, I couldn't be apart from that routine any longer. I wanted to go back, and finally I was able to. After watching the sun come and go seven times, the cell door finally opened. Greeting me through the doorway was the one and only, the warden: Joel Stevenson. He wore jeans and simple black dress shirt; he didn't seem like one to have such power at a big institution like this, but he had earned it over the years. Before I could open my mouth, he started,

"Mr. Iero, you are quite aware of the guidelines and restrictions placed by the prison, aren't you?" I hung my head. I wouldn't be excusing myself any time soon. Whatever the guard had accused me of doing would be true to them, and the fact that I was a murdering criminal didn't exactly help. So, I nodded and replied,

"Yes, sir."

"Then I assume that you know that assaulting a person, a guard, is against the rules, as well as the law."

"Yes, I apologize, sir." I mumbled. The warden nodded curtly and walked off, the guards taking my arms to guide me back to wherever I would have to be taken. In the hall, a clock was mounted on the wall, and I've never been so grateful to be able to tell exactly what time it was. It was 12 in the afternoon, so I assumed they would be dropping me off at the mess hall for lunch. Anxious to see Gerard, I tried walking faster, but the officers holding my arms withheld me and walked at their own originally slow pace. Finally, we reached my respective mess hall. They somewhat forcefully shoved me into the room, and while would usually have glared at them, I instead scanned the room for Gerard. Finally, I saw his slumped figure alone at a table. I made a beeline for him, stumbling over the array of tables, and got to his table and put my hands on the table forcefully, though unintentionally, and he jumped in surprise, not seeing me make my way over. He looked up at me and I saw that his face was not swollen anymore, but yellowish bruises covered his face. I swung myself around the table to sit next to him. Earnestly, I asked,

"Did they…?" assuming he knew what I meant. He shook his head and answered with more words than he had ever said at once.

"No, with all the clamor that you created, and the fact that you had blacked out, they didn't want to risk being caught, so they just ran. You were accused of trying to escape or something and, well, you punched that guard, so you ended up in solitary. I'm so sorry." I was taken aback by his longer-than-usual answer, but replied,

" No, this isn't your fault. It's mine. I shouldn't have brought attention to you. You were fine when no one noticed you. I'm sorry." Gerard smiled, for the first time I had seen, and said,

"For the record, I didn't mind you sitting next to me. I haven't really talked to anyone for a long time." Now, I couldn't contain my happiness. Because that I had saved him, Gerard seemed to completely trust me, getting me one step closer to why he acted like he did. My sacrifice had paid off, and even though it had been painful, it was definitely worth it.


	4. Never Fade in the Dark

Though I had saved Gerard from being abused that time, I knew that the worst was not over. The prison brutes were probably infuriated with my interrupting, and were most likely planning to strike again. Because of what I did, I'd undoubtedly become one of their new targets, so Gerard and I had to be extremely cautious to be around a crowd at all time and to never leave each other's side. I could tell that Gerard was scared out of his mind, I was pretty disturbed too, but I promised to him that I would try anything in my power to protect him. I'm sure he was not certain as to why I took such interest in him, but I guess the same goes for me; I wasn't completely sure why I wanted to protect him either, but to have some purpose in my eventless life felt rewarding.

For the next couple of weeks, Gerard and I stuck together, watching each other's backs, and avoided any trouble. He grew more and more comfortable around me even though his personality stayed as introverted and reclusive as it was when I met him, but I was glad. Even so, I had to know more about him, and what him so withdrawn to the world. I was sure that he wasn't originally as quiet as he was; within the weeks that he became comfortable with me, I had made him laugh, and I recognized that he had been happy before this. I mean, obviously, I don't know anyone who would want to go to prison, but it seemed he had more baggage than the thoughts of being in a single place for the rest of his life. So, given that he seemed comfortable enough around me, I had to ask about his past. If he told me something, anything, it would give me a good idea as to why he acted in such a way, only showing who he really used to be for mere seconds.

It was getting colder outside being that it was almost December, so soon, us prisoners would spend our "outside time", inside in the mess hall or gymnasium for exercise. Gerard and I chose to stay in the mess hall to sit and talk, or to just clear our minds silently, but today, I decided that I would ask about him. Once he opened up, we had only talked about me; only questions about me were asked, and he seemed like one who didn't want to delve into his own life, so I kept away. Today was different, though; I had told myself that for Gerard's sake, he would benefit more to tell someone what drained him so much that he could not act like himself. Of course, I could only assume that he used to be an adequately cheery person based on his subtle, infrequent actions, but even if I were wrong, what difference would it make? Justifying to myself that it couldn't hurt anyone, I asked,

"Gerard, can I ask you something a little personal?" We had been sitting in silence as we sometimes been for minutes before, sitting across from each other at the table, so he unattached himself from whatever he was thinking and peered up at me. I assumed he knew the basics of what I was going to ask. Slowly, he nodded. I rubbed the back of my neck, wondering if it was a bad idea, to bring up Gerard's hidden past, but I sighed, and said,

"What are you in here for?" As I expected, he became tense and didn't answer. I shrugged to myself and wondered if I should have waited for him to become more relaxed around me. But not willing to give up, I asked, "Would it help if I told you what I did? I mean, I regret what I did a lot, but you can't change the past. However, you can change your future, and you can fix yourself for doing wrong. The sooner you wrap your head around your crime, I think the sooner you become more accepting of yourself and your actions prior." Gerard seemed to understand and nodded to that I could tell my story. In all honesty, it was still a hard tale to tell, and I have always felt guilty, but I told it anyway.

"So, I was eighteen at the time, a senior in high school, and I had a girlfriend of three years. I really loved her; she actually made school bearable," I listened to myself speak, a little disappointed that my story seemed cliché, "and I considered myself a pretty good boyfriend. I did make one mistake though: I got her pregnant. I wish I could have prevented that, but what was done, was done, and I told her that I would support her no matter what she chose. She chose that she would keep it, and maybe give it up for adoption once it was born. I respected her decision, and at the same was proud of myself for not being an irresponsible douche-bag like the ones who would leave as soon as they found out he had impregnated his girlfriend. Anyway, I guess I was blinded by my optimism, because I didn't realize what she was doing behind my back. I walked into school one day and everyone seemed to be whispering about something; and I figured out it was about me. I wasn't too surprised at first, I just thought that they had found out about my girlfriend's pregnancy, but I was missing another piece of information. Someone came up to me, I don't remember whom, and told me that my girlfriend, my pregnant girlfriend, had been sleeping with another person. In my complete rage, I don't remember what happened, but they told me that I went on a furious tear through the school, after finding out the classroom of the guy my girl cheated on me with." I sighed, taking a break to compose myself, then,

"Apparently, I burst into the room and started kicking the shit out of this poor guy. I'm sure, I'm completely sure I didn't want to kill him, I swear," I said truthfully. Gerard showed no emotion, but was listening; I could tell. "But, the witnesses in the room who testified in court said that I swung a metal chair at his head over and over; so many times that he couldn't even have an open casket funeral." I took another deep breath. "Then, they said that I ran out of the room to my girlfriend's class, and did the same to her." I was choking on my words now. The sentences that came out of my mouth were much more powerful than I had thought. Out loud, the mental re-enactment I had imagined my rage to be was so much worse than I had made myself think. Only now could I understand how mortified the listener was.

"No one stopped me. I guess they were too shocked, or scared I would harm them, too. Some people tried to pull me off of her, but it was too late. In trial, they showed me the picture of the crime scene and their corpses. His head was split open, and her neck was twisted in an unnatural angle. I pleaded guilty. I wanted to be punished. I needed to be punished; I took three lives. I took a life that wasn't even completely living yet: a life that could have been my creation. The trial didn't take any time at all after I heard all the testimonies and evidence of what I did and pleaded guilty. I don't know how I can forgive myself. I took the life of a person I didn't know, the only woman I ever loved, and one who didn't even get to experience life on earth. Sometimes I wish New Jersey had the death penalty so I can get what I deserve." I was almost at tears, evoking the painful memories of the pictures and stories permanently carved into my memory.

"Don't ever say that, Frank," Gerard said, now staring at me fiercely. I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose, nodded and said,

"I'm sorry… I just really regret it and I had some really bad anger management problems and I just went on a furious rampage. After therapy, I feel like I've gotten so much better, but it's still in me. How I reacted in the laundry room to save you, I'm not so sure if it was the right way to react. I used violence, the last thing I really wanted to use, and I negated everything that I had made myself act over the years. I feel like I've failed again."

"No, how can you say that? You saved me, Frank. You did something brave that saved someone. Sure, maybe you used violence, but it was for good. It was to save someone from pain." I rubbed my forehead now, regretting that I had to relive that experience, but I knew that I had made Gerard feel more comfortable in confessing his own immoralities.

"So, why are you here?" I asked calmly, not wanting to sound oppressive, but urging him to speak at the same time. He rubbed his right eye tiredly, and exhaled. Finally, he said,

"I killed my brother. I took my brother's life." I leaned forward, and asked,

"Why?" He looked at me painfully, and I knew he hated remembering those memories, but I insisted him to. Finally, he gave in, and told the complete story.

"I loved my brother. I loved Mikey. He was my only sibling, my only family, my only friend for years, but I had to do it. I had to kill him, Frank," he inhaled sharply before continuing, "We lived together, Mikey and I, in Newark. Our parent's had died years before, we really didn't have any relatives at all, and we had our separate jobs, each contributing to our share of rent and the bills. We were so close ever since we were kids, and we had always been best friends. We did live in a dangerous area, but it was all we could afford and I think we were both happy. We weren't picky, we weren't spoiled, and I was happy just to be able to feel happiness. I was an accountant, and Mikey worked at a Laundromat, and he usually came back home earlier than me when we worked. On that day, it was in the fall, so the sun went down earlier than before, so I always walked home in the dark. I usually kept a handgun with me for protection; after all, it was one of the most dangerous cities in the state. So, I was walking home, my hands in my pockets, the gun in my right hand just in case. I had grown used to the dangers of the city, but by no means did that mean I would let my guard down. I finally reached home, but… but," Gerard stopped talking, and seemed horrified at himself.

"Hey…" I said, reaching over, about to tell him he didn't have to continue, but he pushed my hand away, took in a shuddering breath, and continued,

"I got home, and started walking up the stairs to the front door, and I heard something coming form the side of the house. The sound was obscure and like nothing I had ever heard before, so I kind of got freaked out because I was afraid it was someone or something dangerous, so I ran inside, and called for Mikey. I called for him over and over but he didn't answer, so I panicked. I called his cellphone, but he didn't answer, so I ran outside again, looking around in panic, still calling his cell phone. I calmed down a little to think of a plan, but while I was thinking, I heard Mikey's ringtone: a special one he had saved for me, our favorite childhood song, coming from the side of our house. I ran to the side of the house, and… I –I…" he stopped again, this time, he could not keep himself together, and tears were almost overflowing from his eyes. I got up from my seat across from him to sit beside him and put my hand on his shoulder, gripping it, showing him that I was there for support. After a few breaths, he continued again,

"I went to the side of the house, and he was lying on the ground in his own blood. He was dying on the ground and writhing around, choking on his own blood. There was this huge gash in his throat and he was gasping; I've never seen anyone heaving and needing more air than I had seen Mikey need it. Every time he breathed in, the deep cut in his throat opened and gushed more blood, more and more and more, and his hands groped around his neck and face. Whoever had done this must have severed his vocal cords because he was screaming, I could tell he was screaming, but there was no sound. Only gasps of desperate air, and I didn't know what to do. He was in so much pain, Frank. He was dying, he was dying so painfully, and I couldn't help him. I wish I could have saved him, but with the amount of blood he had lost already, he was far past that. I threw myself at him, holding his hands down, so he could relax, and I was waiting for him to finally go, to finally die so he wouldn't have to live this pain. I stared into his eyes for what seemed like hours, waiting for them to die away. I held him arms down and was crying so hard, telling him I loved him and telling him that he was going to be okay, waiting for him to go in peace, but he kept screaming silently, and he was staring at me, his eyes seemed to penetrate my skull. His silent screams and desperate gasps of air were killing me, tearing me apart, and he wouldn't die. I didn't have a choice anymore, Frank. I couldn't take seeing him like that, so I just did it impulsively. I pulled out my handgun and shot him in the head. The panicked scared look faded and the bright light behind his eyes that I enjoyed seeing every day was gone. Everything stopped. The shot echoed through the streets and rung in my ears, and I watched Mikey stop moving. I don't remember what I was thinking then, I don't remember anything after that, but I remember being dragged away to a police car, hands cuffed, and watching Mikey's body being pulled into a body bag. I killed Mikey. I killed my brother and only friend. I don't know myself anymore, and honestly, I don't know if I want to." Gerard ended with a sigh, and dropped his head on the table, taking in deep sobs. I sat, dumbstruck. It was far worse than I had imagined. I had imagined him to be a psycho killer, one who seemed normal on the inside, but completely crazy on the inside, but he wasn't. He was a normal citizen, trying to survive the brutal obstacles of life, and some other crazed maniac had ruined his psyche and life.

"Gerard, you didn't kill your brother, you saved him." Gerard quieted his sobbing, but kept his head on the table. Other inmates were glancing over at us now, a little perplexed by Gerard's hopeless sobs. I repeated,

"You saved him." He replied, muffled,

"I killed him. I killed the only one who meant anything to me in my life."

"Gerard, just minutes ago you told me that I was brave. Even though I used violence, I was brave to sacrifice something of myself to save another, you. I did use violence, but it was for good. It was to save you from pain, and that's exactly what you did for Mikey. You loved him so much, you couldn't stand to see him like that, so you did the only thing that seemed logical and it was. You took the pain away, so he could leave in peace. After all, he deserved that much, didn't he? You didn't kill him, Gerard, you saved him."

"But I took his life," Gerard hiccuped.

"That may be true, based on cold, hard facts, but he would have died anyway if you left him there, wouldn't he? Morally, you did him right my giving him a quick, peaceful death."

"They didn't believe me though. They thought I slit his throat and shot him," he choked on the word 'slit', a menacing edge to the ugly word.

"It doesn't matter. The judicial system is just facts. It's whoever can present their evidence most accurately. They didn't care about your motives; they didn't believe you because they had substantial evidence against you. It doesn't matter what they tell you, Gerard. I can tell you right now, you were right. I sounds wrong to say it out loud, but you were right for shooting Mikey. In a way, you saved his life. You saved his life from ending horribly, and you shouldn't regret that in anyway. Believe in what you believe, Gerard. You're not a heartless murderer; you're just a man. You're just a man who had never experienced anything to do with crime. You're just a non-violent, harmless man, Gerard. I can tell you, you don't belong here. You don't deserve to be punished. You should be commended, but instead, they ruined you. They shoved lies into your brain, Gerard, and I can't stand that. Listen to me," I brought his head off of the table, and made him face me, "You did the right thing. If only they had believed you, they would have agreed too, believe me. I'm so sorry, Gerard. I can't imagine how horrible you feel." I had never been so emotionally moved by anything like this before. I finally understood Gerard's need to be reserved; he was ashamed of himself for killing his only friend and believed he needed to be punished. He was crying on my shoulder now, as I had held him, telling him how brave he was, and more inmates started to stare. Gerard's sobs echoed through the mess hall, and no one spoke. I couldn't imagine how torn he was between what he believed and what he was told. He didn't know which was right, and I knew that I had to convince him that he was right. Those judicial bastards were the heartless murderers, not Gerard. They had killed his self-worth and happiness. They stole his morals from him, and I had to steal them back for him.


	5. Helpless Feeling

Even after I had tried so desperately to convince Gerard that he had done well in taking his brother's life peacefully, the brainwashing and trauma that he had experienced contradicted what I told him. Over and over, he had been accused of being a monster, of being a heartless killer who had no sympathy for his brother, one who stuck by him for years and years, or as the tabloids said. He told me that he had, at first, insisted on how he reacted was impulsively and that he meant by no means to act aggressively, but his pleads were not taken into heed. He killed his brother. He took the life force out of his only blood relative, a human, a living being, and he would not be forgiven for that. They repeated these facts, hammering them into his mind, slamming the facts and the evidence they found, imprinting them into his memory forever. After all, he couldn't say that he didn't do it; he did, but, as morbid as it sounds, for all the right reasons. He told me how the whole trial was a whirlwind of guilt and torment, and that he did not speak one word, in defense, or in cross-examination. The evidence, the pictures, the prosecution, would not stop torturing him with the only regret he had in life until he believed it himself. They made him believe what they told him. Inside, I knew he was being torn apart. A small part of him told him that he had done well, but the rest, the majority of him that had been wiped of all his own beliefs, told him that he really did deserve to be punished for what he did. I couldn't allow someone as innocent and helpless as Gerard was to be in this kind of situation, but I didn't know what to do. I always reminded him this, telling him he was far from an angry killer like me, but somewhat of a hero by doing something for another to save them from pain. That is what a hero is, isn't it? If Superman hadn't saved Lois Lane, she'd be in a whole lot of pain, you'd think. I could tell that Gerard knew I was trying to help him, but I don't think it was completely reaching him. Of course, he had to be a little regretful when thinking about how he did, in reality, take his brother's life, but he was ruling out the context. I didn't give up in trying to make him believe the right thing, but I had to take his mind off of it. I decided that he should come out of his reclusive shell and get acquainted with other inmates; after all, like me, not all of them were horrible monstrosities like the others.

Gerard, for the first time, followed me to a separate table in the mess hall where several other inmates sat. I hadn't talked to them very much, preoccupied with Gerard, but they still welcomed me back, playfully hitting me on the shoulder and teasing me with joking insults. Finally, I got around to introducing Gerard. Everyone greeted him warmly, and with that gesture, I knew that Gerard realized it wasn't as bad as he thought. Ray, one of the first friends I made as an inmate, spoke up,

"So, Gerard, what are you in here for?" Gerard tensed at the question, and I winced. I had been hoping that that question wouldn't come up, but it been shot at Gerard right off the bat. I answered for Gerard.

"Uh, murder," I said, not specifying the details. Ray nodded, sticking his bottom lip out; I wasn't sure if he was impressed or just taking in the thought of the feeble looking man in front of him killing another person.

"How long have you been here?" Ray asked. This time, Gerard answered,

"Almost three years." Again, Ray nodded thoughtfully, and said,

"Hm, haven't seen you around at all before you met Frank." Gerard shrugged. I placed my hand on Gerard's shoulder, and said,

"Well, I mean, that's about all there is to know about him," I laughed, trying to change the topic to something else other than Gerard himself, shaking my head a little, "Just like any inmate here, I guess." Ray slapped a hand on Gerard's back.

"Hey, I guess, welcome to the group," he said, beaming. Our so called "group" was only composed of a few people, maybe ten in total, but all of them decent men, who have, I assumed, found the error of their ways. None were profoundly evil or angry, and I was glad to have found such an anti-stereotypical prison group. Gerard grinned back at Ray; I had seen more and more of his smile these past few days, as I had comforted him and relieved some of the burden he carried, and I smiled to myself, proud that I had accomplished something. One thing I had figured out after caring for Gerard was that I was replacing something that I had lost years and years ago. When I found out that my girlfriend, the one that I had killed, was pregnant, I had, of course, I had been enraged and panicked at the beginning, thinking that I had ruined my life and reputation, but I had realized that I loved the girl, and that our lives weren't over. In fact, it would probably be worse for her than for me. After a while I had come to appreciate the fact that I was going to be a father. I had fanaticized about taken care of the child and I looked forward to it, even though she would probably give it up for adoption. I wasn't a completely bad person, I had to say; inside, I was a compassionate, caring person, and I had no idea what came over me on the day I had gone on a mad rampage through the school. I had been preparing to have a kid, and I was inwardly ecstatic, but on that ill-fated day, through the red, I had not seen anything but evil and indignation, and had not considered my actions while in the rage. Afterwards, though, I couldn't fathom what I had done, and I completely confessed to the crime, believing that I deserved to be punished for my unforgivable act. I guess all the "fatherly love" that I had anticipated was still in me and I was able to release it through Gerard, and it was, quite frankly, the most fulfilling thing that I had ever done. I didn't have many "good deeds" in prison, up until now, and my life was in a never-ending rut. Thankfully, Gerard pulled me out, making me feel better about myself, along with him. It's completely true: giving is the best gift you can receive.

As I contemplated my motives on taking care of Gerard, Ray approached me and said,  
"Hey, Frank, I gotta talk to you," he said. That phrase scared me, as I'm sure it did to anyone who heard it. Asking for permission to state something to another person was never a positive thing and I was not excited to hear what he was about to say.

"Have at it," I said, telling my self that it was probably nothing, and he was just there to tell me something minor and unimportant.

"Here, sit down," he motioned to an empty table separate from where our group sat. I hesitated to leave the populated area, feeling less exposed with more people around, but I followed Ray, tearing my eyes from Gerard, who had acquainted himself with the other inmates quite nicely, as I watched him laugh at one of the comments make by an inmate. Ray and I sat at the table, opposite from each other, and Ray spoke.

"Rumor has it, now keep in mind that it is a rumor, that the state is…" he interrupted himself with a sigh. I could tell that the news to come was not good; he was having a hard time to spit out whatever he wanted to tell me. I widened my eyes and nodded, pressing him to tell me, becoming impatient that he wouldn't just say it. He continued,

"The state is considering the death penalty, and through the people that I've heard, it's going strong, and if it passes, they're going to try and fix the overpopulation in prisons." I wasn't prepared for this. I had expected he was going to tell me something about a small change in the prison schedule or maybe even a rumor going around that an inmate was killed through some freak accident, but not this. Granted, those examples aren't very well thought out, but I couldn't help but think of better alternatives than that of what Ray had told me. Overcrowding in prisons were becoming a problem, especially in this area of New Jersey, were crime was not uncommon, and though controversial, it seemed that the most convenient way to make space was to kill off all those who had done the most harm in society. This meant I would be one of the first to go, taken that I had confessed in killing the two teenagers, even though I wouldn't have had to with the dozens of witnesses that had testified on my account. Even worse, Gerard would be taken into mind as well, being that he, too, had committed a wicked act. I appreciated that Ray had told me, and not him, but I couldn't bear to tell him, and I knew that in a couple months' time, hopefully more, I'd be taken away to death watch to await my death. Truthfully, like I had said to Gerard, I wished that there was the death sentence in New Jersey because of all the guilt and need for punishment I thought I required, and even though I knew that I would be scared of death when I would be strapped down onto the gurney, I was completely opposed to it now that I had meaning in my life. I couldn't leave Gerard. He was my only purpose in life. Telling myself this, I realized that it was sort of romantic. Here, because of the isolation of men from women, I haven't had an intimate moment to share with another woman, and I knew that this was the closest I would get. Of course, I wasn't attracted to Gerard in that way, but my love for him, yes, love, was sort of fatherly, or brotherly, as I had mentioned wanting to be a father before. I was his father for me, and a brother for him, like he had lost. I had replaced everything we had ever wanted since arriving here, and I was glad I was able to, but that was about to be taken away, even after I had worked so diligently to watch Gerard laugh with other people like he never had before. I told myself to think differently, though. It was not completely decided that the death penalty would be endorsed, and Ray wasn't even sure if the rumor was true. I told myself to calm down. As of now, I would hold off on telling Gerard this rumor and let him enjoy laughing for as long as he could.


	6. Can We Still Reclaim Our Innocence?

Ray kept me updated on the rumors flying around through the guards, officers, and occasional sheriff, until finally, it was announced. There were several televisions hanging on some walls in the mess hall and lounge area, and one day, about half a year since I had met Gerard, all of the speakers scattered around the prison sputtered on, and the Warden made a pronouncement.

"All officers, turn the TVs onto channel four." The announcement was abrupt and was followed by the shuffling of guards taking out their remote controls to change the channel from what usually was a sports game, to the given channel. At this point, I was extremely nervous. Very rarely did we ever have a prison-wide broadcasting, and usually had them only during elections or during important national occurrences. Soon, each television was on channel four, a nationwide new channel; NBC I think. The newscaster was just finishing up his last report and stated,

"New Jersey's death sentence? Coming up right after these messages." The commercials started playing, the annoying spokesperson superfluously yelling about some super amazing washcloth. I knew it. I just knew it. Clamor rose in the room, some reactions frantic, others, nonchalant and indifferent. Gerard, who had been sitting next to me, faced me, wide eyed, assumingly confused to the point of terror. I peered up at him, sighed, and nodded subtly. He brought his hand to his mouth and stared back at the television. The commercials seemed to last forever, until the program finally returned. The newscaster started to speak.

"The governor of the state of New Jersey has announced that the bill to legislate capital punishment, or the death penalty, has passed…" I didn't really hear anything after that. I knew people were yelling and acting out, and guards were preparing themselves to protect themselves, in case any sort of riot ensued. I just sat there, still staring at the television, watching the newscaster's lips move silently. I could tell Gerard was facing me, unbelieving of what he had just heard.

Soon, to avoid any disturbances, all inmates were forced back into their cells. It was around seven in the evening and the sun had almost completely set. As we shuffled back to our cells, I could see that Gerard and I had been separated by the flow of the crowd, and that he was struggling to get back to me. In my trance of disbelief, I ignored him and walked to my cell, or more like pushed by the other inmates. Over and over, Gerard cried my name. I looked behind me and saw that he was struggling to get to me, guards holding back both of his arms, forcefully bringing him back to his cell. Each prisoner stood in front of their cell doors while an officer walked past, ensuring that inmates were in the proper place, Gerard's calls that echoed through the cellblock not fazing him in the least. I was still caught in my reverie, still not convinced about what I had heard; Gerard's shouts ringing in my ears. Finally, the cell doors opened and I walked inside, turning my head just long enough to see Gerard being thrown in by the guards that were restraining him. I let myself fall onto my bunk, still listening to Gerard call my name again and again. Several inmates yelled angry threats at him to be quiet, along with a few of the guards, but he did not capitulate, and continued to yell, not only my name now, but cries for help and pleading innocence. At the moment, I was too immersed with the thought of my doomed future to realize that he thought the fact that he was innocent had finally reached him; either that, or he just didn't want to die. I remained on my bed for the rest of the night, staring at the small rectangular concrete ceiling, thinking about what I had just heard. Since Ray had informed me about the situation, I had thought I was fully prepared to receive the official news that the bill had been passed, but I really wasn't. Once hearing about the bill itself and that it was going strong, being favored by the majority of the representatives and the state itself, I knew, or was almost completely sure, that it was going to be passed. Even so, I guess I still had a lot of hope that it wouldn't be passed and I didn't realize how thwarted I would be. I imagined all of the difficulty that it would take until my execution. They had to decide whether I was fit to stay on my life sentence in prison, or whether I would be executed, and after that, I would have to be taken to death row to await my lethal injection. I thought long and hard about what was to come, and what the different options were, not many, really, into late at night. Eventually, Gerard had stopped crying out and I had assumed that he had fallen asleep, but I was proven wrong. I assumed it was late at night, for most of the prisoners had fallen asleep, but Gerard called to me once.

"Frank?" I didn't answer right away, unable to conjure up the will to reply to him, but eventually I did.

"Gerard, it's okay," I called out into the darkness.

"It's not, though!" Gerard cried back. I could tell he was on the verge of becoming hysterical again.

"It is. I'll be there tomorrow and the day after and the day after. It'll take months for this to play out. Don't worry, I'll-" I was cut off sharply by one of the guards who stood on night duty.

"Hey! Shut the hell up!" he yelled, banging on some metal, which I assumed were Gerard's cell door bars. After that, I didn't hear anything else from Gerard.

~~~

I didn't sleep at all that night, speculating what I was going to tell Gerard the next morning. At six thirty, all the lights flashed on, as they did every morning, and we were ordered to step out of our cells. I reminded myself that it was Tuesday, inspection day. Looking to my left, I leaned back slightly to see Gerard doing the same. My eyesight wasn't good enough to completely make out his expression, but he was clearly distressed. In a meek attempt to cheer him up, I held up a thumbs-up sign and grinned. The simplicity of the gesture, along with the nerve-wrecking situation, made our small and silent exchange all the more funnier, in a sadistic sort of way. We, along with many of the other inmates, were about to die.

I had nothing to worry about during inspection. I never kept anything against the guidelines and rules of the prison, and they checked my room quickly. Actually finding something was extremely rare, as it was a maximum security prison, and today was no different than any other typical inspection day. By the time the officers checked every cell on the block, I was restless with anticipation to tell Gerard my thoughts. Finally, we were led to the mess hall, slower than I would have liked. As soon as I stepped into the room, I was yanked aside by Gerard, catching me by surprise.

"What's going to happen? Are you going to die? Am I going to die?" he asked frantically, gripping the hand he had pulled me with. We were pressed against the brick wall by the swarm of prisoners filing in.

"I don't know, Gerard, but I have to tell you something," I whispered, only loud enough for him to hear. He looked at me questioningly, but I waited until the commotion died. Once the prisoners settled down, I sat myself down at a table apart from the majority of the inmates and gestured for Gerard to join me. He sat down next to me and asked,

"What are we going to do?" I inhaled deeply, doubting whether what I was about to tell him was the right thing to do. Finally, deciding that it was, I said,

"We're going to escape."


	7. Run Away With Me

"Escape?" Gerard said, shocked. I nodded. "But how?" he asked.

"I have a couple of ideas, but I was thinking whether Ray could help us or not." Gerard was appalled at the idea of escaping, but I explained to him, regretting that I had to make him face reality,

"Gerard, I hate to say this, but it's the last choice we really have. I'm sure I'll be set for execution, and well… I think you will too." Gerard opened his mouth to contradict me, but quickly closed it, knowing that what I said was undoubtedly true.

"What were you thinking of doing?" he asked. I sighed in relief, glad that Gerard agreed to join him.

"You know how a portion of the laundry is shipped to be cleaned in a different place because we can't wash all of it, right?" Gerard nodded, catching on to what I was entailing.

"Ray can probably fill us in with the schedule and how the guards act, but I doubt he'll come with us. He only has five years left, and I don't think he wants to make it longer," I laughed weakly, but quickly returned to my reasoning for escape. "Gerard, what do we have to lose? Our lives? We don't have anything to live for anymore. If we're going to die anyway, we might as well have the choice. If the escape doesn't work, we'll die, but in the slim chance that it does, well, we're free." Gerard inhale slowly, and nodded, deciding that I was right.

"I guess you're right…" he said. I could tell he was a little disappointed that his life was going to end in such a disenchanting manner.

"I'll go talk to Ray," I said, and stood up from my seat. I left Gerard and approached Ray, who was solemnly having a conversation with the rest of our exclusive group. Pulling him out nonchalantly, I tried not to raise awareness from the rest of the inmates.

"What's up?" he asked. I knew he was going careful with the way he spoke, also knowing that I was surely going to be fixed for execution. I scratched my head nervously before asking,

"Will you help Gerard and I…" I stopped, and rethought my reasoning for escape. It made sense, but what were the chances we wouldn't get caught? I wondered whether dying with dignity was a better choice. I scoffed at myself, though, reminding myself that we were stolen of our dignity as soon as we were pushed through the prison doors for the first time. I continued,

"Will you help us escape?" Ray was taken aback by my request, and sputtered,

"Escape?" I nodded. "I can't escape. I have five years, maybe less, left!" I raised my hands, palms out to him, gesturing for him to calm down, and responded,

"No. No, no, no. I'm not asking for you to escape. I'm asking if you can help us plan it." He sighed, looked up to the ceiling, still a little uncertain, but finally, said,

"I'll help you, but only because it's the least I can do. I've heard Gerard's story, and he doesn't deserve to die like this. He deserves to be free." I was relieved. With Ray's ability to collect information about the prison, Gerard and I would have a better chance to successfully escape.

"Thank you, really, it means so much." I exhaled, glad that he was willing to help. I explained to him what I was planning, and asked whether it was possible, based on the amount of guards swarming around every opening of the prison. He told me that it was possible but there was a slim chance that we would be successful. Ray also worked in the laundry room, and along with his mysterious ability to gather information from the outside, he was an excellent observer. He memorized the schedules of each guard that circulated through the laundry post, along with their personalities and whether they were laid back or strict and unforgiving.

"I think that we should wait for them to decide whether Gerard is going to be given the death sentence. There's still a possibility that he could stay with his life sentence," Ray suggested. I agreed. I was surely going to be executed, given that I had actually confessed personally to the crime and pleaded guilty. Not to mention the dozens of witnesses at the scene. Gerard still had a chance though. He had pleaded innocent and his trial had taken a long while to settle, meaning that the jury was unconvinced that Gerard had committed the crime, until they finally gave in. We decided that we'd collect information about the laundry schedule, which we already had most of with Ray's, and wait for Gerard and my trial to determine our possible execution.

~~~

Weeks after we made our escape plans official, I was called to a small hearing outside of the prison to determine my fate. The state gave me lawyer, who I regarded with indifference. He didn't seem very smitten with me either, but it was his legal obligation to represent me and do the best he could to defend me. I considered the trial with apathy, knowing what my fate was going to be. There was no way my life would be spared. I was already nationally known, after my story had been released to media. You'd think that I'd be long forgotten after almost a decade and a half, but no. I was still remembered and I wasn't pitied. Not long after it started, the trial ended. I was to be executed in a little more than two months.

Once I returned to the prison, I told Gerard and Ray what would happen. Gerard took it surprisingly well, and listened as I told him what the trial was like. He was going in about a week's time to be regarded as doomed or saved. I knew he was nervous, but I realized that I wasn't sure what he wanted. Did he want to stay in the life sentence, or did he want to escape with me? Upon returning from my trial, at lunch, I asked him,

"I never asked you, Gerard. What do you want?" He glanced up from his plate of food, a puzzled look on his face.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you want for your future? Do you really want to escape?" He didn't answer for a moment, but finally, said,

"I have no purpose or good prospect of hope anymore. I don't know how to lead my life, and, well, you're the only one I can follow."

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Gerard nodded, sure of his answer.

"Okay. We'll wait until your trial, as planned, and decide whether you still want this."

"Sounds good," Gerard grinned. Despite our ugly outlook for our future, Gerard was surprisingly optimistic. I really think that being a part of something, no matter the outcome, brought his mood up. I was glad I could better his disposition, and hoped his trial wouldn't change it in any way. Only time would tell.


	8. At the Top of my Lungs

Ray approached me during dinner. His expression worried me. It was dark and regretful, neither emotion Gerard nor I could deal with at that moment in time.

"What's wrong?" I questioned. He exhaled, then said,

"I have some bad news."

"Well, spit it out!" I didn't mean to snap, but the anticipation had effected me in such a way that I could not to wait through the expectation of the horrible news that was about to come. I winced a little at the harsh tone in my own voice, but Ray did not react.

"The next laundry truck doesn't come until after your execution." Those ten words ruined me. Ray stood above me for a while, not knowing how to react to me, but eventually, he gripped my shoulder, in a way, wishing me luck, and walked off. Strangely, all I could think of was Gerard. I was inevitably was going to die, there was no avoiding that anymore, but Gerard didn't deserve to. Only weeks ago, he had gone to his hearing and was sentenced to the same fate as me: death. Forcing myself to look at Gerard, I glanced up at him, and saw the expression of dread printed on his face. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.

"Gerard, — you need to escape." It didn't matter to me whether he wanted to or not aanymore. He needed to escape. "You need to live." Gerard shook his head; biting his lower lip in such a childish manner it broke my heart. He was by no means ready for any of this.

"I can't without you."

"You can, Gerard. You need to get out of here."

"I'd rather die without you."

"No, Gerard. You don't. You want to live, and you deserve to."

"Well, so do you!" he cried. I shook my head in sorrow,

"No, I don't. I murdered two kids in cold blood. I don't deserve to live." Gerard shook his head stubbornly. I needed to make him understand, so I had no choice but to snap at him.  
"There's no avoiding this anymore, Gerard. I'm going to die, and there's a chance you will if you don't successfully escape. I'm not gonna to lie, it's gonna to be hard, but you have to." Gerard still shook his head, not wanting to believe it. "Just because you deny it, won't make it go away. You have to accept this and do what's best for you." This time he didn't shake his head, but I wasn't quite sure whether he got my message. I sighed, and returned my voice to the softer, more sympathetic tone it was before.

"I can't be your hero anymore, Gerard." Gerard didn't answer and kept his gaze on the tabletop to avoid mine. I continued, "I can't save you anymore. You have to be your own hero. Believe me when I tell you this: you deserve to live. Your life is precious, and you deserve it. Every bit of it." Suddenly, he burst out,

"And you don't?!" I looked him up and down, taking his image in, as if it was the last I could see him, and I wanted to take in as much of him as possible.

"It's what I want, Gerard. I deserve it because of what I did. It was no accident." He shook his head again. I grew frustrated, a little angry, even. "Look, Gerard, okay? You can't deny that I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die!" I yelled. He looked up at me, fiercely.

"I'm not denying that you're going to die," he growled. I was taken aback by his anger, never seeing it ever before. "I'm denying that you deserve it. You don't deserve to die. Yeah, sure, you did kill those kids, but that was years ago! I can guarantee you, Frank, you are a different person than that enraged person. A heartless killer wouldn't be such a great person. A heartless killer wouldn't put the wellbeing of a person he barely knows in front of his own. A heartless person wouldn't care about me!" We sat silently for a few moments, before I said,  
"Maybe so, but that doesn't change my past."

"I can't bear to be alone anymore."

"You'll have to. It's okay."

"It's not! Before all this," he motioned dramatically to the whole prison, "Mikey was all I had. No one else was worth anything to me. He was my best friend, my brother, my only family, and I killed him! He's dead because of me, and I'm trying to… I'm trying to get my head around it, but I can't. I will always have killed my brother. And that's never gonna go away. Ever. Unless, maybe, I go away."

"Don't even think like that." He hung his head, regretfully taking in his thoughts.

"I can't help it."

"Just try. Just try and take care of yourself. You can do it. I know it. You're strong enough." He sighed, and I knew he had accepted it. "Ray will help you escape. He won't go with you, but he'll walk you through the whole thing before you go and distract the guards." Gerard nodded. All at once, the guards blew their whistles, like usual, to alert us that we were going to be led to our cells. I said, one last time,

"I can't be your hero anymore. I'm sorry."

~~~

Days passed since I broke reality to Gerard. It was time to go to death row. There, I would spend my last days to be prepared for my execution. I wouldn't see any of my fellow inmates again. Promptly after lunch, I would be led out of my cellblock. There wasn't much to leave behind. I didn't own any belongings, and the only thing I was leaving behind was the memory of me. Gerard would carry my memory forever, whether that be a good thing or a bad thing, I don't know, but it would eternally be with him in his subconscious, Hopefully, I generated a good enough intuition for him to think like me and that maybe, one day, he can fully understand that he could take care of himself, not through my line of thought. All of this, though, would only be possible if he escaped. This was last chance to persuade him to escape.  
I eyed the clock in the mess hall. I had half an hour. We had both sat in silence for the first thirty minutes of lunch.

"Gerard…" I wasn't sure what to say. How exactly are you supposed to say goodbye? He looked up at me, though, and said,

"I'm going to miss you, Frank."

"I will, too, Gerard." I nervously glanced at the clock, the minutes ticking by, and I grew restless. This was the last time I would ever see Gerard or any other inmate ever again, and the goodbye occurring at the time was far from what I was expecting. I stood from our table, and walked over to Ray's. I greeted all of them, and the whole table roared with greeting. I grinned at their enthusiasm, and greeted them back, and they started to playfully shove and tease. Soon, though, the somber reality took over and regretful goodbyes were said and supporting phrases were said. Looking at the clock, I saw that I only had five minutes until I would be taken to death row. I rushed back to Gerard after thanking the other inmates and saying goodbye to them for the last time.

"Gerard!" He whipped his head around to face me, and his eyes darted to the clock. "Don't look at the clock. Look at me. Face me." He averted his eyes to me. They were tinged with red and were started to become watery, but he tried to keep tears back. "Gerard, promise me you'll escape. Promise me you'll try," I whispered fiercely. I was kneeling on the ground in front of him as he sat in his chair. I held his wrists and gazed up at him. I laughed a little to myself, imagining how bizarre this looked, as if I were proposing to him, but I justified to myself that I actually was proposing something to him. "Promise me, Gerard, that you'll try." He opened his mouth and choked, trying to hold back sobs.

"I'll try," he whispered. Seconds ticked by until finally, all of the guards blew their whistles. Two guards came for me to lead me to death row. Locking me into handcuffs, I was pushed towards the doorway opposite to that of the door where all of the other inmates left, and Gerard still sat at his chair, his back twisted to watch me leave. Guards neared Gerard to make him return to his cell, but Gerard stood up, turned, and left. He didn't look back. I faltered, expecting him to turn and make a grand farewell, but he didn't turn or hesitate. He just walked towards to opposite doorway until I saw the last of his black hair. To say the least, I was horrified. I had expected a much more fulfilling goodbye, one that would last until I died, but it was the complete contrary. This time, it was me that broke down. I started yelling and screaming his name, pleading the guards to let me see him one last time,

"Please! Please let me see him one last time!" I cried over and over. They paid no attention to my begging, and kept a firm grip on my shoulders and back, trying to fight my struggles, until finally, we reached my destination. Death row. I stopped struggling. Many other inmates were here too, waiting for death, in their separate cells. My cell was smaller than the one I had resided in for years before, and the bed wasn't very comfortable either. Almost immediately after I was placed in my cell, I was called to have measurements taken of me. I assumed it was for the lethal injection. I counted four more days until my execution. I had asked that I would not be given a spiritual advisor. I wasn't a religious man, nor was I one in need of constant assurance, or so I though of myself. All I wanted, really, was Gerard. I wasn't so sure, though, if he needed me anymore. All this time, I thought I was there to support him, but he was doing the same for me. I should be thankful that he would be able to fend for himself based on his insufficient farewell, but the selfish side of me thought otherwise. I didn't want to leave with Gerard not wanting me. My original intentions were the opposite, though, because I wanted him to escape and finally be the free man he deserved to be, but I missed him. I missed him so much. I wanted him back.


	9. Pain in my Heart for your Dying Wish

Today is October 28th. Today, the 28th of October, I would die. I would never see my 32nd birthday.

_7:00 AM_

I woke up. It was surreal to think that today, I would die. Today, I would be strapped down to a table and injected with chemical that would shut my body down. I shuddered. I looked at the clock just outside my cell. I tortured myself, counting the minutes, telling myself, "This is the last 7:01 AM you'll ever have. This the last 7:02 AM you'll ever have," and so on and so forth. I counted the seconds to my end.

_8:00 AM_

The last breakfast. It wasn't much different from the past meals I received, but I had no appetite and I tore apart the toast, taking a few bites. It still watched the clock mindfully aware that I only had 9 hours until I was taken through the process of execution.

_12:00 PM_

The last lunch. It was relatively better. They served me pizza that was seemingly fresh, and I took a couple of bites, savoring the taste, and left the rest on the plate. I had used the past hours to try to calm myself, but to no avail. I was still scared shitless, and there was nothing I could do about it. Even more than this, I thought about Gerard. I wanted to spend my last breakfast with him. My last lunch. My last everything, with him. I wanted to die with him. That was selfish, I know, and he did deserve to live, but what if there was an afterlife? What if there was a heaven, hell, or purgatory? The past few hours, I really reconsidered my beliefs on the afterlife, or the lack thereof. If there was, I couldn't bear to be without the one person I had actually cared about in years. If there wasn't, could he live without me? Since he reacted so indifferently towards me, or so it seemed, when saying goodbye, I assumed he didn't need me. I was alone, just like I was before, but this time, I knew what it felt like to be liked by another person, and I was withdrawn from that feeling. I wished I could see him one last time.

_5:00 PM_

The Warden, accompanied by a pair of guards, opened my cell door. It was almost at the time of my death, but first, my last meal. The last supper. I laughed a little to myself, connecting my situation to that of Jesus's. Maybe, I'd be resurrected. I scoffed at myself, the reference to a resurrection surely impossible, but I was left wondering if it were possible. The whole process and complete stress inflicted upon me before my execution was mentally exhausting and a part of me wanted all of it to be over.

I was taken to a room with a singular table and chair by it. A couch stood against the wall and several chairs were scattered around the walls of the room. This was where visitation hours and my last meal would occur. The Warden sat me down at the table and freed me from my handcuffs. I rubbed my wrists while he asked,

"Now, what would you like for your last meal?" His voice was sticky with an edge of menace, like he was mocking me. I pondered on this for a moment, until finally, I decided, with a smirk,

"I would like a nice plate of powdered eggs." The last meal meant nothing to me. Powdered eggs was quite possibly the closest way I could get close to the memory of Gerard. It was what they served the day I saved him from the Neanderthals that had tried to assault him. I remembered that he had completely despised the eggs and left them untouched, after learning their vile taste. A stupid notion, I know, it was only a plate of plastic-like eggs, but there was little to represent in prison. We lived on the same routine every day with the only change being the various meals everyday. Thus, I connected Gerard with the eggs. The Warden, a little confused at the fact that I chose the eggs over virtually anything I wanted, shrugged and relayed my order to a guard, who left to tell the kitchen. Moments later, the guard returned with a plate of eggs and placed it in front of me. I stared down at it, a fork stuck into the yellowish substance. It touched the fork, moving it around a bit, before taking ahold of it and shoveling a spoonful of it my mouth. I almost spit it out, the slimy stuff making me want to throw up, but I swallowed. I laughed to myself. This was last thing I was ever going to eat. Why did I choose something so disgusting? I giggled. I didn't mean anything to Gerard anymore; why should I remember him? I felt like I was going crazy. Throughout the day, I had gone through so many emotions, from sorrow, to regret, to anger and denial. I shook my head, trying to get the negative thoughts out of my head. Of course I meant something to Gerard. Why wouldn't I? I saved him. I wished I could see him, though. I wished I had one last chance to have a better farewell.  
I didn't finish the eggs, and they took away my plate.

_5:30 PM_

Visitation hours began. I sat in the middle of the same room. The table I had eaten my last meal on had been moved to side and I sat with my back facing the door, where two guards stood. I didn't expect anyone to come in. I imagined hearing the door open from behind me and hearing footsteps come towards me, as I turned around to see it was Gerard, but I knew that would never happen. They wouldn't make any exceptions for me. Visitation hours lasted until 9:30. Three hours of sitting, waiting for my death. If there was a hell, I wouldn't be afraid; this was far worse. I laughed in my mind at the ridiculous comparison, but stopped when I came to a connection. What if life on Earth was hell? What if our lives were actually a punishment for our past sins? Was our only purpose in life to die, only to experience the same "Hell" over and over again, like an endless cycle? I thought about this for a while, taking the spiritual point of view instead of the scientific view. Who says this is wrong? What science can prove what happens after death? None.

The clock ticked painfully.

_9:30 PM_

Visitation hours end. No one came through the door like I had imagined. I sat in that chair, for three hours, waiting. The Warden escorted me out of the visitation room, to a small corner in the hallways, where a single telephone sat on a small table, and a stool right next to it.

"Your last call," he said, gesturing to the table. I sat myself down at the table, and picked up the telephone. I hesitated, but then dialed the only number I remembered. Hopefully, he would pick up, if he even lived there still. Thankfully, it started to ring. In the middle of the fifth ring, he picked up.

_"Hello?"_ a man answered. I hadn't heard his voice in years. Overcome with emotion, I stuttered before saying,

"Hi,"

_"Who's speaking?"_ he said gruffly. Softly, not wanting to show the weakness in my voice, I answered,

"It's Frank, your son." On the other side of the line, I heard a grunt. "Dad?" I asked after he didn't respond.

_"I have no son,"_ he growled, and hung up.

"Dad?" I called again. The line had been cut. All this time, I had kept myself together, my emotions covered, but just then, I couldn't stop the tears from flooding out of my eyes. All I had wanted was a little compassion. A little bit of pity. I wanted someone to be truly sorry that I was going to leave them; maybe then, I'd believe that I had lived for some reason. Apparently not. I had a single purpose in my life, I knew then, that all I was living for was to die. I left behind no legacy. I left behind no heroism. All I left behind was a cautionary tale for children. I left no positive meaning in this world, and I was starting to legitimately believe that I did deserve to be executed. An unimportant, piece of scum like myself didn't deserve to take up the supposed "sacred" life given to us. I wasn't worthy, and I knew I wasn't. Yet I still wished that I had meant something to one person. Just one.

My mother died while I was in prison. I think I meant something to her. Just five years after I had settled into my cell, she died from cardiac arrest. Before that, she visited any time she could, justifying to herself that her little boy wasn't the killer that he was proven to be, no matter what he had confessed. He was still her sweet little child, her only child that she treasured. I can't say she was wrong. Even I didn't know who the person I turned into was. My father, on the other hand, completely abandoned even the thought or past of having a child at all. I had disgraced him, his reputation, and anything he ever was. The only thing he didn't think was that I had done the same to myself.

_11:00 PM_

After my last connection with the outside world, I was put on deathwatch. Since then, I've been sitting on my bed, staring at the blank wall ahead of me. Outside my cell, the Warden sat to accompany me during my last hours. Finally, it was time. The Warden opened the door, and handcuffed me gently. I could tell, no matter the heinous act I committed, he still pitied me and acted a little kinder than before.

We reached the execution chamber. It looked like something out of a submarine or some kind of warship, but inside, was a bed, arm and leg straps attached to the side. Windows surrounded the chamber, and though they were merely mirrors to me, I was aware that witnesses were sitting behind them, ready to see me die. The windows were one way, and I wasn't able to see the people sitting behind them, but I could only assume that the parents of the poor teenagers I killed were sitting there, waiting for their child to be avenged. The mirrors surrounding me startled me. I didn't want to see the disgusting excuse for a human in front of me. I didn't want to see myself, but sure enough, it would most likely be the last thing I would ever see. I was strapped down to the table, nurses tightening the straps around my wrists and ankles. IVs were inserted into both my arms. In a matter of minutes, my lungs would stop functioning and my heart would be still forever. The intravenous lines led to a curtained off area, where the execution teams would inject my body with the lethal dose. None spoke as they prepared me. At this point, my chest was heaving, and I had started to whimper softly. I was no hero. I didn't need to be brave. I was scared out of my mind. Once I was strapped on the bed, they swung it upwards, so I was secured vertically with the bed, like I was standing, facing the witnesses. Staring at my reflection, my whimpering grew louder and louder, the preparation finally done, thus beginning my execution. An officer started,

"Frank Anthony Iero Jr. has been found guilty of second-degree murder. The execution shall now proceed." The warden stepped up to the bed,

"Do you have any last words, Mr. Iero?" I still whimpered, but controlled my breathing, making it less frantic, so I could answer him. I had never thought about my last words, but I suppose my last thoughts were quite fitting. I calmed myself before saying,

"I'm sorry I serve no purpose in this world. For that, I deserved to be put to justice. I wanted to mean something to someone, but I didn't. So, Dad, I'm sorry. To say that I disappointed you is an understatement. I don't deserve to be labeled as your son… To the parents of the poor victims of my crime, I hope you can find it in your hearts somewhere to forgive me. It's a lot to ask, I know, but hopefully, my death will serve some relief to you… Not many people at all have stood out in my life, but I can say that one did. Gerard, if they allow you to listen to this, let me just say, I'm sorry for failing you. I'm sorry I couldn't be your hero, and on the behalf of both of us, I'd like to make a sincere farewell. So, Gerard, I'll miss you, if that's possible, and I enjoyed the short time we had together. You are my meaning in life. You are my hero." With that, the warden gave a nod, and the anesthetic was pumped into my veins. I wouldn't feel a thing anymore. I took one last look at myself in the mirror, staring at my own light eyes, struggling to keep them open. In vain, they closed softly, and my thoughts were silenced.

**A/N: Just to clarify, during the process of lethal injection, the person is first injected with an anesthetic, then a paralyzing agent to stop his lungs and diaphragm from moving, and finally, a toxic agent (not in all states) is injected to induce cardiac arrest. For more information, here is a link to the whole process of the lethal injection including the 24 hours before the actual execution on the other pages: How Lethal Injection Works**


	10. I Will Be with You

_**Gerard's P.O.V.**_

I didn't sleep on the night of October 28th. Somewhere, in the very same building, Frank would be administered with some lethal chemical, stopping everything from functioning in his body. I would never see him again. Today, the day after, was October 29th. I came out of my cell, today, and looked around, expecting something, after such a big event, to be changed, but the only thing that was different was when I looked to my right, Frank wasn't there to smile back. Other than that, everything was unchanged. No one around me seemed to be affected by Frank's death like I was. It was just another routine day. So, just like every routine day, we were lead to the mess hall for breakfast.

Upon entering the mess hall, everything seemed so much vaster than it had before; the people more intimidating and I felt so alone. I didn't have anyone to sit with anymore, so I sat myself down at the table we usually sat at, alone. I'd never see Frank, the only one who had ever cared about me here, again. Needless to say, I was more devastated than I had ever been. The vacant feeling I felt inside was tearing me apart, and as much as I wanted to hysterically cry, something, I don't know what was stopping me. The last time I had seen Frank, I hadn't said an emotional goodbye, but tried to act like I would be able to take care of myself. I didn't want him to leave worrying about me, so I tried to act composed. I wish I hadn't though. I wasn't able to express what he really meant to me and how grateful I was that he approached me for the first time months ago. My heart was broken and then, the TVs turned on. The news was on and in the middle of a report. Wanting to exorcise the demons ripping me apart, I decided to listen to the news. It must have been an important report because the room had quieted down; I only assumed to hear the news. The volume was turned up and I heard.

_"Frank Anthony Iero Jr., many of you may remember as the furious teenage killer, has been the first to be executed in the state of New Jersey. At 11:12 PM on October 28th, yesterday, he was administered with a lethal injection, and was witnessed to have taken his last breath. His last words are as follows."_ My eyes widened and I involuntarily took in a sharp breath, waiting to hear the last words Frank ever said. They played the recording.

_"I'm sorry I serve no purpose in this world. For that, I deserved to be put to justice. I wanted to mean something to someone, but I didn't. So, Dad, I'm sorry. To say that I disappointed you is an understatement. I don't deserve to be labeled as your son… To the parents of the poor victims of my crime, I hope you can find it in your hearts somewhere to forgive me. It's a lot to ask, I know, but hopefully, my death will serve some relief to you… Not many people at all have stood out in my life, but I can say that one did. Gerard, if they allow you to listen to this, let me just say, I'm sorry for failing you. I'm sorry I couldn't be your hero, and on the behalf of both of us, I'd like to make a sincere farewell. So, Gerard, I'll miss you, if that's possible, and I enjoyed the short time we had together. You are my meaning in life. You are my hero."_ Everything around me melted. My mouth gaped open in horror. I had made a terrible mistake. The last time I had seen him, I had acted indifferent so that he wouldn't worry, but he really needed me just as much as I needed him. I assumed that he would be fine. But I was wrong. He was just as vulnerable as I was, but didn't express it as openly as I did, just for my good. Oh, no. He died thinking that he meant nothing to me, when in actuality, he meant the world to me.

"No. No, no, no…" I whispered to myself, putting my head in my hands, resting my elbows on the table. Tears landed on the slightly scratched, silver surface of the table. As the seconds went by, the feeling of regret and hopelessness grew substantially, the thoughts shouting accusations of failure at me, telling me how Frank died in sorrow, when he should have died feeling worthy of the world and accomplished in saving another's life. My cries grew louder, and I felt someone shaking my shoulder softly, words of comfort trying to calm me. I looked up from my zone of bleakness, to see Ray sitting next to me. He had stopped comforting me and was not staring up at the television, where Frank's face, as a mug shot, was displayed. Irrefutably, this would be the last time I would see his face. He was history now. He meant nothing to anyone now that he was dead. Justice had been served. The image stayed on the screen for a couple more seconds, and then disappeared. Ray looked back down at me. His face was distressed but empathic and he kept his hand on my shoulder.

"Tomorrow," he said, "Tomorrow at 11, the laundry truck comes." Biting my bottom lip, I nodded. Tomorrow, just two days after Frank's death, the laundry truck would come; the truck in which I would jump on and escape. Now, though, I wasn't sure whether I wanted to. I had left Frank so unthankfully and left him regretting his life altogether. He claimed that he served no purpose in life. If only I could disagree with him. This whole time I was so surrounded by the fact that Frank had actually meant something to me that I hadn't realized that it was mutual. I mattered to him just as he had mattered to me.

Breakfast ended. I was still in a daze from the news. Constantly, I found myself looking around for Frank, only to remind myself that he wouldn't be around, no matter how much I wished. We were forced outside to the prison yard. It was a relatively warm day and the sky was a pristine blue. I stared in scorn at it. How can it be such beautiful weather when something so tragic just occurred? I sat down in the usual corner where Frank and I sat, the exact same spot where we had met. I tried to calm myself, until out of the corner of my eye, from behind the chain-link fence, I saw a car coming out of the prison. This wasn't unusual, but this car was different. It was shiny black, longer, but taller in the second half. It was a hearse. I jumped up to my feet and watched it move slowly down the pavement. Impulsively, I sprinted the length of the prison yard to the fence. Around me, I could see the officers twitch nervously, gripping their guns, a little uneasy at my sudden burst. I ran up to the fence, my fingers weaving into the holes, my eyes following the black car. Undoubtedly, Frank's body was inside the car. Slightly at first, I shook the fence, making it clang against the metal posts. This time, more violently, I shook it. I wanted to see him one last time. I wanted to see his face. I followed the car along the fence, my fingers gripping each sections of wire, until the same hand that had comforted me before clamped shut on my shoulder. He pulled me away from the fence, leaving me scrambling to get back, the car getting further and further away, until the guards opened the gate and let it pass through. The car vanished behind the gates. I stopped struggling and my legs gave way, leaving me limp on the ground. My hands wove through my hair, gripping my scalp. My eyesight blurred with tears, I gasped quickly, letting out quick sobs. I felt Ray's hands on my sides, getting a firm hold to lift me back on my feet. Huge, silent tears fled down my face, and he held me in front of him, sorrow in his eyes.

"You okay, buddy?" I nodded, obviously lying. I wasn't okay. I couldn't live without Frank and I wouldn't be able to survive on my own, but I knew Ray would urge me to escape. Then, an idea dawned upon me. I would try to escape. Just not the way we had planned. In a way, I'd be escaping from more than just the prison.

Ray stood with me by the fence with his arm around my shoulder, helping me stay standing and comforting me with words I did not pay attention to. All I did was stare at the gate from which Frank's body left.

"Hey," Ray said. I looked up at the tall inmate, only then to actually listen to what he had to say. "I miss him, too." I wasn't the only one who was emotionally distraught by Frank's death. Ray's expression was heavy with despair and his eyes were touched with red. Moved by his mutual feeling of loss, I moved in to hug him, staying that way for a few moments, appreciating the rare intimate friendship between inmates. I regretted not grasping the actual importance Ray had in my brief time here, and wished I had gotten to know him better.

"And I'll miss you," I said. The shrieking whistles started to sound and we released our embrace, walking back to the doors of the prison. Closer and closer with every step, we neared the dreaded building, until we were mere feet away from it. Two guards rounded behind us, as we were the last of the group, but while Ray kept nearing the building, I stopped. The officers behind me stopped simultaneously. They were probably confused. Then, in a sudden movement, I twisted around on my heels, push past the two of them, and sprinted down the dusty prison yard. Shrill whistles pierced my ears seconds after I started running. The muscles in my legs adjusted to the once familiar vigorous movement, being awaken from their dormancy. I hadn't moved like this in years. Just as I because aware of my impulsive actions, my heart burst with excitement, adrenaline, and pure exhilaration. I surprised myself with the capability I had to move like this. After so many years, it felt like I was completely free. I knew, of course, there was no way out of the prison yard. It was completely fenced off, but it was so vast, and the seconds seemed to last forever. I wasn't even out of breath. I started laughing. A smile bigger than I had ever conjured up before was plastered on my face, and I had never felt so completely spontaneous. There was nothing I couldn't do. No limit. Amidst my laughter, tears, I don't know of what, whether it was joy or sorrow, appeared in my eyes, and flew down my face in the wind.

"Frank, I'm free. Just like you wanted."

I felt the bullet before I heard the shot.

It flashed red.


End file.
